Treehouse
by em j
Summary: A far too familiar victim unlocks secrets from Sara's past that even she was not aware existed. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so I am realising how good I am at procrastinating. Whilst the delights of Emmeline Pankhurst and Millicent Fawcett await me in my 'Votes For Women' textbook, somehow I still find myself drawn to the computer to write. Why can't my brain be as focused on history and maths as it is on writing? Anyway, what resulted from my procrastinating this time was this...**

**Feedback, as always, is extremely welcome, if only to let me know people are reading!**

**Em xxx **

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Seventeen year old Carly Zimmerman rummaged through her too-small purse, trying not to place it into one of the dirty puddles on the side of the sinks. The public toilets in the shopping mall were not the most hygienic she had been in and she did not want to get the contents of her purse wet. Eventually she grasped her lip gloss, but as she pulled it out, her keys fell onto the floor. She swore under her breath and bent down to pick them up, aware of the fact that her short skirt was riding up at the back, but not concerned because she was alone. As she was standing up again, however, a middle-aged woman walked in. Her eyes fixed disapprovingly on the back of Carly's skirt. Embarrassed, the teenage girl tugged it until she felt certain it was covering her underwear as the woman disappeared into a cubicle.

After liberally applying her lip gloss Carly squashed it back into her purse and yanked the zip shut. Flicking her hair in the mirror she turned to leave. As she opened the door to go back out into the busy mall, a man pushed past her, making her trip backwards over her own feet. "Hey!" she cried out. "You can't come in here!" She turned to look at him but he had a hood pulled down low so she could not see his face. He turned his head from side to side agitatedly, observing the cubicles and noting there was only one door closed. Then he reached into one of the pockets of his jacket and pulled out a gun.

In an instant Carly had fled the toilets. She was barely out the door when she heard a single gunshot. An oppressive scream filled the air, high-pitched and desperate. By the time Carly had realised the sound was coming from her own mouth, the man had left the toilets and run through the shocked crowds, leaving startled people gawping in his wake.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom wandered into the room, interrupting Sara and Catherine's discussion over a series of photos lying spread out on the table.

"Any news on our John Doe?" Catherine asked, looking up from the pictures of their unknown victim's mutilated body. It was a relief to be able to stop studying the worst kind of example of man's treatment of others. Sometimes even she was shocked by the things she saw in this job.

Grissom shook his head. "Mr Doe is no longer the top of our priority list."

"Poor guy never really made it to the top in the first place," Sara commented with a grim laugh. "Who's the lucky one this time?"

"That's what I need you to find out for me. Just got a call in – 419 at the Boulevard Shopping Mall."

"Can't someone else take it?" Sara asked, her attention half on the photographs spread out before her, half on Grissom. "We're kind of busy here. Surely this guy, whoever he his, deserves more than a couple of hours of our attention?"

"I'd love that to be the case, Sara, but since he died two others have also met their makers. Greg and Nick took the last one, about half an hour ago. Now it's your turn. It's a busy night." He shrugged helplessly, by means of an apology.

"You manage to make that sound half normal," Catherine smirked. "Like a 'busy night' means lots of phone calls rather than lots of dead people."

"It's an art," Grissom replied. "So, can I leave it in your capable hands?"

Sara sighed and began to collect up the photographs into a neat pile. "Do we have a choice?"

Grissom smiled at her. "I always ask – it makes me sound less domineering."

Sara could not help but smile back.

I.I.I.I.I

"What've we got?" Sara asked a uniformed officer standing guard outside the public toilets, upon arrival at the crime scene. The shopping mall had been closed but a teenage girl with dyed blonde hair was still sitting on a bench a few metres away from the entrance to the toilets. A female police officer was comforting her but it did not appear to be working because the girl was shaking violently, the tears flowing down her cheeks showing no sign of stopping and creating black mascara smudges underneath her eyes.

"Woman, aged between fifty and sixty, shot through the head whilst using the bathroom." The officer described the murder in a monotone voice; he may as well have been describing what he had eaten for dinner last night.

"She was- on the toilet?" Catherine repeated, disbelieving.

"She's still sitting there, pants round her ankles," the officer confirmed. Sara thought she detected a small smile playing on his lips but a sharp disapproving look from Catherine removed any traces of it as quickly as it had appeared. He raised his hands defensively. "No offence meant. Sometimes humour is needed to…you know, lighten the situation. Besides, you're not telling me that a woman shot through the head in a toilet cubicle is a random victim?"

"Are you saying she deserved this?" Catherine asked; her disapproving stare now even harsher.

The officer looked slightly alarmed; his nerves betrayed his youth. Sara thought he looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "No- I…I didn't mean that," he stuttered, unable to meet Catherine's stern gaze. He seemed to decide the best idea was to move on. "I haven't touched anything. The scene's all yours." He motioned into the public toilets.

Sara found herself inadvertently shivering at the thought of an innocent woman being caught at such a mundane moment; if you were not safe when going to the bathroom, when were you? There was something truly horrific about being murdered in such a way. She turned to look at the young girl and the police officer on the bench. "And that is?"

"Carly Zimmerman, aged seventeen. The perp pushed past her into the bathroom. She saw him draw a gun and ran."

"Sensible girl," Catherine muttered.

"Can she give a description?" Sara asked.

"It didn't sound hopeful." The officer shook his head.

"I'm going to go and have a chat with her," Sara said. "I'll join you in there in a minute," she told Catherine, gesturing into the toilets.

Upon approaching the police officer, Sara noticed that the girl's tears seemed to be drying up. The female officer looked up at Sara, who silently motioned to be left alone with the girl. Withdrawing her arm from the teenager's shoulders, the woman obeyed. Sara took her place on the bench. The girl barely seemed to register her change in companion. The sound of Sara's voice, however, stirred her and she turned to look up.

"Carly, I'm Sara. I know this must be difficult, but we really need to ask you some questions. It's best to do it as soon as possible after…the crime."

The girl nodded weakly. "I doubt I'll be much help."

"Let me be the judge of that," Sara replied, a kindly smile on her face. "So, you were using the bathroom?"

"I was just putting some lip gloss on, you know," Carly replied. "I was meant to be meeting Kevin at 8 – he's my boyfriend." Fresh tears began to flow down her cheeks as though the memory of the evening she had been forced to give up caused even further trauma.

Sara smiled. She had never been the kind of girl who had applied lip gloss for her boyfriend in the shopping mall toilets, but now was not the time to tell Carly this. "And a man came in?" she prompted.

"As I went to leave, he pushed past me. I nearly fell over. I shouted at him; told him he wasn't allowed in the women's bathroom," she explained. "Then I turned to look at him. He looked nervous. Then he pulled out a gun. I just…ran-" she stuttered.

Sara placed a hand supportively on the girl's arm. "You're doing really well, Carly," she murmured soothingly. "Did you see the man's face?"

"He had a hood pulled down. I couldn't see anything. But he was wearing grey pants and a hooded brown top."

"Are you certain you didn't see anything? His eyes? Maybe hair?"

"No, I- he- the hood was totally pulled down over his face. And I didn't hang around."

Sara thanked Carly and called the police officer over to take her details, but as she stood she sighed inaudibly. Not the best start.

She made her way into the bathroom. Catherine looked up upon her entry. She had a sad, almost apologetic look in her eyes. "He shot her straight through the door."

Sara shook her head sadly and moved over to the cubicle. She looked down at the woman's feet, wearing comfortable flat shoes. Her blue pants were pulled down and her panties were just above them. Sara felt distinctly uncomfortable and voyeuristic; no woman deserved to be seen like this. She was so vulnerable. Catherine moved aside and Sara had a clear view of the woman for the first time. The moment she set eyes on her face, Sara felt like she had been slapped; flashes of light went off in her head. For a moment she was glued to the spot, but then she stumbled backwards, tripping over a case of crime scene equipment.

"Sara?" Catherine enquired concernedly, taking hold of her colleague's arm quickly to stop her falling. Her face had drained of all colour and she looked as though she was struggling to catch her breath. "What is it?"

"It can't be," Sara murmured, regaining her balance but not the colour in her cheeks. "No- I- It can't be."

"Sara, what is it?" Catherine asked urgently. "Do you know her?"

"I think so."

"You think so? Who?"

"She's my mother."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, thank you so much for the reviews! I was hoping for a couple, so to get nearly 20 blew me away! I hope you continue to enjoy it! (Although your bad influences are causing far more procrastinating...I have an exam this afternoon...aaargh!) **

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Sara turned, unable to look at the woman; she was sitting on the toilet as though she were about to get up and wash her hands, the only sign something was awry being the bloody hole through her head. She moved over to the sinks and placed her hands supportively on a basin in order to keep her balance. The stained porcelain felt cool and smooth to her skin. It was as though all her senses had heightened. She could hear the sound of a dripping tap somewhere and she could smell a horrible mixture of bleach, blood and urine. All of a sudden she felt her stomach heave and she threw up all over the sink. Coughing, she attempted to spit out the bitter taste from her mouth. Catherine approached her from behind and placed a hand supportively on her back, rubbing gently in circles. "Hey, hey, it's alright," she murmured.

Sara was suddenly aware that her breathing was short and sharp. She had not seen her mother for more than twenty years. Now she was faced with the emotions of seeing her again and the reality of her death, all in one go. "I have to get out of here," she blurted, her voice a weak croak from her dry throat. "I'm contaminating evidence."

She heard Catherine laugh softly. "Don't worry about that," she replied. "But I think you're right. Let's get you out of here."

I.I.I.I.I

In the end Catherine did not stay to process the crime scene. She made excuses for Sara as she escorted her from the shopping mall - she had come over nauseous, maybe it was a stomach bug or something. She drove Sara back to the lab, making a brief call to Grissom on the way. He had asked what was wrong. "I think you better speak to Sara in person," she had replied.

"What am I going to say?" Sara had mused quietly when Catherine had ended the call.

"That the victim was your mother?" Catherine suggested without taking her eyes off the road. The silence that followed had made her wonder whether she had been a little blunt. She was just about to apologise when Sara began to speak again.

"I never even spoke to her when she got out of prison," she muttered. Her voice was outwardly calm, stating facts, but Catherine was not oblivious to the mix of emotions in her voice: regret, anger, pain. Catherine did not know how to reply but as it turned out Sara continued speaking before she had the chance. "I always thought- I thought I would see her again. But- not like this." Sara stopped talking bluntly; her words making Catherine's chest tighten with shared emotion

Catherine glanced briefly at her friend and colleague, taking her eyes off the road for a moment. Sara's eyes were moist and there was a noticeable lump in her throat. As she continued to drive, Catherine became aware of the sound of choked sobs, barely stifled by Sara's futile attempts to do so. She signalled right and pulled into the side of the road. Cautiously she reached out a hand to Sara's, clasped together in her lap. When Sara did not pull away, she squeezed her friend's hand and held on to it until she had cried all the tears she had left inside her.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom was walking along a corridor when he saw Catherine and Sara approach him. He closed the file he had been studying as he moved and quickened his pace. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his question directed at Sara, sounding both confused and concerned. "I heard you had a stomach bug. You should go home."

Sara, who had previously been staring at the floor, looked up and Grissom saw her eyes were red and swollen; she had been crying. He suddenly also became aware of Catherine's supportive hand placed on her back. "What's going on?" he questioned.

Sara opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Catherine provided her voice instead. "I think Sara needs a cup of coffee or something stronger. And somewhere to sit down."

At this, Sara suddenly found her own voice. Shaking her head vehemently, she protested, "No, I just need to talk to you, Grissom. Preferably not in this corridor." She was aware of passing eyes boring into her. She must look a mess, she thought. She had been crying, and she probably smelt of vomit. How attractive.

"Sure," Grissom replied, signalling for the two women to follow him. Once they had reached Grissom's office, Sara turned to Catherine. "Thank you, but I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" Catherine asked, knowing it was a stupid question; Sara would say she was 'fine' whether she was or not.

"Honestly." Sara smiled weakly and nodded gratefully at her friend and colleague. "I appreciate what you've done."

"Hey, you got me an hour off proper work." Catherine returned the smile before turning and making her way back down the corridor. Sara turned round to face Grissom and took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy.

I.I.I.I.I

"What do you mean the dead woman is your mother?" Grissom did not sugar-coat his shocked response, just as Sara had not sugar-coated her short explanation.

"Just what I said. The woman in the shopping mall is my Mum." Sara was beyond tears now. She could feel her body hardening to the events of the last hour or so; her body's usual reaction to emotional trauma – shut it out.

"I thought your Mum moved to Canada?" Grissom queried. For a brief moment the circumstances surrounding their conversation escaped Sara's mind and she was warmed and touched by the fact that Grissom remembered the few details she had disclosed to him about her life. The feeling did not last long.

"Not my foster Mum. My real mother."

Grissom looked shocked. "I thought she-" He cut off, unsure how to continue.

"Murdered my Dad?" The ease with which Sara could talk about her past shocked even herself. "She did but she only got manslaughter; she was a battered wife, Grissom, and that usually gains a woman some sympathy. She was out of jail within five years."

"You haven't been in contact with her?"

"I last saw her on my fourteenth birthday on a visit to her jail. She had forgotten what day it was. I didn't even get a card. That was it. I told my foster Mum I wasn't going back. And I didn't. I was a stubborn teenager."

Grissom smiled for a moment. "You still are stubborn, Sara," he commented. She looked up at him and their gazes met. For a moment he saw all the hurt in her eyes; the pain she was trying to lock away. It upset him, and he looked away. "You should be at home."

"Why?"

"Emotional leave; you've suffered a bereavement."

"Before today I hadn't seen that woman for more than twenty years, Grissom. I didn't know her."

"You and I both know that's not the point. She was your mother, Sara."

"My mother moved to Canada, like you said. She still sends me Christmas and birthday cards and we speak on the phone every now and then. The woman who is dead in the Boulevard Shopping Mall is a stranger to me."

"Then why aren't you there, processing the crime scene?" Grissom asked.

Sara was silent for a moment. "It was a shock, that's all. I'll go back now, if you like."

"What did I say? Stubborn."

"It wasn't just the fact that it was her," Sara protested. "It was just a horrible way to die. It never ceases to amaze me…" Her voice faded.

"'Man's inhumanity to man,'" Grissom quoted.

"Robert Burns," Sara returned.

Grissom smiled. "Go home, Sara."

I.I.I.I.I

Unlocking the door to her apartment, Sara was aware of the deathly stillness inside. There was still a bitter taste in her mouth from when she had been sick. She opened a kitchen cupboard. Inside was a full bottle of whisky. She pulled out a glass and poured herself a generous amount of the thick drink. In one swift movement she swallowed the entire contents of the glass, screwing up her face at the strength of the alcohol. In a moment, however, she felt the warmth of it running through her bloodstream, making her feel instantly more relaxed. This was a dangerous path, she knew. The whisky had been in the cupboard for more than two years. The last time she had opened a bottle it had not lasted the evening. She had bought another one because somehow knowing it was in the cupboard gave her the power to resist; she was in control. But not tonight; now there was no turning back.

Pouring herself another generous glass, she made her way through to her bedroom. She placed the glass on top of her bedside cabinet and got down onto her knees in order to reach under her bed. She pulled out a wooden box. Opening it she found the collection of letters she knew were contained within. Carefully rooting through them, she eventually found what she was looking for: a photograph. It was faded and curled at the edges but the image was still clear. Sara, aged about seven, with a toothless grin on her face. Behind her was her mother, her shining brown hair hanging around her shoulders, her perfect smile and her shining eyes gazing devotedly upon her young daughter. How things changed, Sara thought.

She stood up again, the photograph in her hand, and reached out for the glass of whisky. She could still feel the effects of the last glass but it did not stop her drinking this one equally as swiftly. She walked through to the kitchen and caught sight of a calendar hanging on the wall. The irony of the date suddenly hit her. Picking up the whisky bottle she then settled in an armchair. Gazing at the photo, she took a swig of the whisky, the taste no longer having an effect on her. "Happy Birthday, Mum," she muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hooray, only two exams left! Officially that means I should still be working, but everything feels a little less urgent now, so I can devote a little more time to writing. That is until July when I go on holiday- it's a hard life! Don't worry, I will have this finished by then!**

**Enjoy (hopefully),**

**Em xxx **

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"Have you seen Sara today?" Catherine asked Grissom.

"Hopefully she's at home," Grissom replied. "I told her to take a night off."

"If she is, this would be the first time she has ever listened to that advice. Did she tell you everything?"

"I think so."

Catherine sighed. "Poor girl."

"She hadn't seen that woman for more than twenty years."

"So I gathered," Catherine replied. "Some family reunion."

"Did you go back to the scene?" Grissom queried.

"Yeah, it's processed. To be frank, there wasn't much to be done. Laura Sidle is in the morgue."

The sound of the woman's name sent a shiver down Grissom's spine, the reality of this victim's identity hitting him. "Any ideas what we're looking at?"

"No clue," Catherine replied. "To all intents and purposes it seems random, but…"

"Who randomly gets shot through the toilet door?" Grissom completed the question. "We're going to have to speak to Sara."

"You said yourself she hadn't seen her mother for more than twenty years."

"She's the best lead we've got, Catherine. If this was any other person, we'd be right on it. Just because this is Sara, we can't treat the whole case differently." Grissom was the last person who wanted to upset Sara but he knew his words made sense, even if he had not entirely convinced himself.

Catherine nodded. "Shall I give her a call?"

"No," Grissom replied. "I'll do it."

I.I.I.I.I

Nick had been searching for Catherine for a few minutes when he stumbled upon her in a side room studying some photographs.

"Hey, Nick," she greeted, looking up at him. "How can I help you?"

"You working the Laura Sidle case?"

Catherine presumed Nick had been briefed on the personal link to the case. Either that or he was extremely slow on the uptake and the victim's surname had not registered with him. She decided the first option was more likely. "Amongst other things. These," she gestured to the photographs spread out on the table. "Are of a man destined to be John Doe #04 for the rest of his life." She smiled sadly. "But yeah, I am on the Laura Sidle case."

"We registered the numbers on her cell phone. The only number she had called or received a call from at all, as far as we can tell, is this one." Nick handed Catherine a piece of paper with a cell phone number written on it. "She had been calling it every few minutes the afternoon before she died. And, she received a call only ten minutes before her murder."

"Interesting," Catherine mused. "I suppose I better give our mystery caller a call of his own. Thanks, Nick."

The CSI turned to leave, but had a change of heart. "Have you spoken to Sara?"

"Not since yesterday."

"Oh," Nick replied. "Well, that's better than me. How was she?"

"Shocked. But you know Sara. She was holding up."

"It's not right." Nick shook his head sadly. "I know it's a job, but no one should have to see someone they know…not like that."

"There's no need to tell me that, Nick." Catherine smiled at the young man sadly.

"Well, I suppose I better be going. I'm supposedly working on John Doe numbers 1 to 3. They're all deserving of my time, but-"

"It's time you don't have. I know, Nick. We can only do our best."

Nick looked Catherine in the eye. "But our best isn't always good enough, is it?"

I.I.I.I.I

The sound of the doorbell awoke Sara from a deep sleep; far deeper than any she had had recently despite the fact she was curled up uncomfortably on a sofa. As she sat up, pain shot through her head. She spotted the empty bottle of whisky sitting on the table and groaned. As she stood up, pain filled her entire body; her muscles were stiff and aching.

The doorbell sounded again. "I'm coming, I'm coming," she muttered. Pulling the door open, she was surprised to find Grissom standing on the doorstep. He looked surprised at her appearance and it suddenly occurred to her that she must not be looking at her best. Without a word from either of them, she stepped aside to let him in and then shut the door behind him. When she turned around he was studying the whisky bottle as though it was a piece of evidence. "This is good stuff."

"I suppose I must have thought so last night," Sara replied.

Grissom placed the bottle back on the table. "This is not the answer, you know," he commented gently.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Do you think I don't know that? It was a bad night, that's all."

"A whole bottle of whisky, Sara? That's more than a bad night."

"I realise that now," Sara replied, massaging her temples.

"'First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you.'"

"F Scott Fitzgerald," Sara replied, but only out of habit of their little 'I quote, you quote' game. "I was upset, Grissom. It won't happen again. But for now, I do not need a lecture or an aphorism. All I need is a glass of water and some aspirin."

"I thought you said she was a stranger to you?"

"Huh?"

"People do not drink whole bottles of whisky when strangers die, Sara. At least I hope you don't. That's an expensive habit to fund."

Sara shook her head exasperatedly but quickly regretted it as it exacerbated her killer headache. "You said I could have the day off."

"You can. As long as you promise me you'll stick to water."

"I have no plans for another bottle of whisky, let me assure you."

"I'll be back again later, Sara. I need to ask you some questions."

Sara sighed. "I knew there must be an ulterior motive. You didn't just come round here to check up on me."

"I wouldn't dream of it. You're not a child."

"No." Sara shook her head and added quietly, "I never really was."

Grissom turned and headed for the door but stopped just as he went to pull it open. "One raw egg, some orange juice and a pinch of salt. Always did the trick for me." And then he was gone. Sara never ceased to be amazed by that man.

I.I.I.I.I

"My name is Catherine Willows," the senior CSI explained into the phone. "I'm a CSI with the Las Vegas Police Department." She hesitated for a moment as the person on the other end of the line asked her why she was calling. "I wonder if I can ask who I am talking to?" Now the man expressed complete confusion. "Please, sir, this is an important matter."

At that moment, Grissom entered the room. Catherine held up a hand, indicating to him to stay put but to keep quiet. Grissom listened in on the conversation, or at least the side he could hear, unable to pick up anything useful. When Catherine hung up, he began to talk. "Your John Doe – number four, not two. Greg thinks he may have an ID. James Baird, aged thirty seven, missing since last week." He began to rattle off details from the sheet he had in front of him, before he realised Catherine was not really listening. "Hey, Cath? Are you alright?"

Catherine seemed to be jolted back to reality with his question. "Huh – yeah, I'm fine. I- did Sara ever tell you whether she had any siblings?"

"Yeah, she has a foster brother. But I don't think they've spoken for quite a while. He moved to Europe. They lost touch. Why?" Grissom looked confused. "Who were you on the phone too?"

"That's what I was ringing to find out." Grissom still did not seem to comprehend. "I rang the number that called Laura Sidle's cell phone just before she died. I was just speaking to one Adam Sidle. He says he's Laura's son."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for the reviews. And in answer to MC New York's question, a friend did once say she had read somewhere that that actually was a hangover cure. But no one I know has ever dared to try it, and I most certainly do not recommend it!**

**Em x **

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**"Her son?" 

"That's what he said."

"How old was he?"

"I don't know, Gil. I told him he should come in to speak to us."

"You haven't told him she's dead?"

"I didn't fancy telling the poor guy his Mum was dead over the phone," Catherine replied. "Besides, we're going to have a few questions for him."

"More than a few."

"Exactly. Anyway, he sensed something was up. He said he could be here in around an hour."

"He's local then?"

"Well, he must be in the area."

"Looks like we just found ourselves a suspect."

I.I.I.I.I

Sara had decided not to take Grissom's advice. Even had she had had an egg in the house, the thought of subjecting her queasy stomach to a concoction of orange, salt and raw egg made her feel decidedly more ill. Instead she had gone for the more traditional method of a shower and two extra strong aspirin. Now she was feeling a lot better, if not quite up to her usual standards.

Making her way into the living room, she spotted her mother's photograph sitting on the table next to the empty bottle. She picked it up and headed back into her bedroom, where the wooden box was still sitting open on her bed. She sat down next to it and pulled out the letter on top. It was dated the 15th September 1989. Sara had received it on her 18th birthday. She pulled it carefully out of the envelope and began to read.

_My darling Sara,_

_Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I hope this letter finds you in good health on the day you are going to officially become a woman. No longer my little girl Sara, but an independent, mature, beautiful woman. In my head you are still the fourteen year old girl you were the last time I saw you, but I know much must have changed since then._

_Everything is the same as ever with me. But I have made a decision. If you do not reply to this letter, I will not write again. It has been four years of one sided conversation and neither of us needs it to continue if you do not want to contact me. Do not think I am doing this because I do not love you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love you so much that I cannot express my love in words. But I do not want to cause you pain. You are an adult now, with your own life. If you no longer wish to affiliate yourself with me then I understand that; I will not force you to do so. But if you decide you would like to see me, or simply write to me, I will always be here – you know my address. I hope you understand that. I will never give up hope of hearing from you._

_With all my love, forever, always,  
Mum_

Sara folded the letter carefully and replaced it inside the envelope carefully. Then she placed it back into the box, with the faded photograph on top. Finally, she closed the box and once more hid it underneath her bed. It was out of sight again. She only wished she could hide away her feelings as easily.

"I'm sorry, Mum," she murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."

I.I.I.I.I

Adam Sidle slowly sat down. "Dead?" he murmured.

Catherine sat down beside him. "I know this must be difficult, Adam."

"She can't be. I only spoke to her on Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" Catherine could not help but query.

Adam turned to look at her. "Is that meant to mean something?" The look in his eyes dared her to question him. There was no grief in his face, Catherine thought; there was purely confrontation.

"Do you know how we got in contact with you, Adam?"

"I'd rather you called me Mr Sidle. I'm 19 years old. I'm not a boy. And in answer to your question, I presumed I was next of kin."

"You may well be," Catherine replied, no longer trying to be friendly to this man who evidently had no intention of returning the sentiment. "But actually we got your number from your mother's cell phone. The last call she received was from you. And it was not Wednesday, it was 10 minutes before she died."

Adam looked alarmed for a moment, before he composed himself. "Oh, yes, I remember. I called her to check what time I was coming round for dinner tonight."

"Dinner?"

"Yes. Nothing important."

Catherine marvelled at the fact he could recall their meal arrangements seemingly without a twinge of sadness. "I see," she began. "And did your mother call you twenty times in the hour before that call to finalise dinner arrangements also?"

This time if Adam was alarmed he did not reveal his feelings in his face. "Do I need a lawyer, Miss Willows?" he asked.

"That depends whether or not you're hiding anything from us."

"You seem to think I am."

"Why don't you prove me wrong?"

"Are you going to arrest me, Miss Willows?"

Catherine stared at this man, apparently devoid of emotion despite the fact he had just found out his mother had been murdered. There was something not right. She shook her head. "I believe you're well aware that I cannot arrest you, Mr Sidle."

"Then I think I'll leave."

"We have more questions for you."

"Then I'll come back. But for now I need some time alone. After all, my mother has just died."

As he stood up and left the room, Catherine could have sworn she could see a smirk on his face.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom and Nick were talking about John Doe number 3 when they spotted Sara coming around the corner. Upon setting eyes upon them she immediately turned in the other direction, but Grissom called out to her. "Don't you go anywhere."

She turned back to face him. "Remember what I said before, Grissom. No lectures."

"That's alright because I only have two simple words for you. Go home."

"What good can I do at home?"

"You know you can't work on the case of your own mother, Sara."

"Then I'll work on another one. We've got enough John Does to fill a bus."

Grissom shook his head, exasperated but with a smile on his face. "Stubborn."

Sara smiled slightly in return. Nick shifted from one foot to the other, feeling slightly like a spare wheel in this strangely intimate conversation. "How are you, Sara?" he asked. It was a pathetic question, he knew, but he had nothing better to offer.

She smiled at him but he could see sadness in her eyes. "I'm fine, thanks."

"You can help me on John Doe number 1, if you like," he suggested. "I have a possible ID."

Sara turned to Grissom. "I'll work with Nick. No straying, I promise." She proffered her hand. "Deal?"

Grissom smiled, took her hand, his grip tight, and shook it firmly. "Deal."

I.I.I.I.I

Sara was on the way to the lab to offer Greg some evidence, when she stumbled upon the young man on his cell phone. She guessed him to be in his late teens and he looked extremely aggravated. He was pacing up and down the corridor, the hand that was not holding the phone moving restlessly in and out of his pocket. His face was drawn and he had dark, bloodshot eyes. Drug use, Sara supposed. "You know I can't get it that quickly," he was muttering into the phone. A moment of silence, then, "I'm doing my best." Sara stood still for a moment watching him before he became aware of her presence. "I have to hang up now," he spat down the phone before doing just that and putting the phone in his pocket. "Can I help you?" he asked Sara brusquely.

"Are you alright, sir?" Sara questioned. She was used to finding unsettled people around here. They had often been forced to confront situations that were alien to them. People reacted in strange ways to death.

"I'm fine, thank you," he replied, still curt but apparently calming slightly.

"Were you looking for someone?"

"Actually I was just leaving." Sara noticed him scan her body up and down. By the look of the smile on his face when he met her eye once again, he liked what he saw. "But thank you for your concern."

_Player, _Sara thought, _thinks he's so suave. _"Well, maybe I can show you the exit, Mr-?" she began, trying to remain polite and distant from this boy who evidently thought he was in with a chance, despite the fact he must have been half her age.

"Sidle. Adam Sidle."

Sara's blood chilled. It had to be a coincidence – but Sidle was not so common a name. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. At last she managed to stutter, "S-Sidle?"

Adam looked confused. "Yes. Why?"

"May I ask why you're here, Adam?" Sara questioned, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"My Mum has been murdered," he replied with a chilling lack of emotion. Sara drew her breath sharply.

"Mum-" she began.

"Excuse me?" Adam queried.

"Laura Sidle?" Sara murmured.

"Yes, that was her name. What's the problem?"

_I have a brother, _Sara thought. _Thanks for telling me, Mum. Just when I was starting to forgive you._

Sara looked the boy in the eyes, all of a sudden the family resemblance strikingly obvious. "My name's Sara Sidle," she announced matter-of-factly. "And I think I'm your sister."


	5. Chapter 5

**Don't worry, I never had any plans for inbred children! (In response to MC New York's review in case anyone's wondering!)**

**Hope people are still reading!**

**Em xxx**

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"Is this some kind of wind up?" Adam asked, glancing around him as though he expected hidden cameras to jump out from behind the walls and declare the whole thing a hilarious hoax. "My sister? I don't have a sister!"

Sara's heart was racing but she was not entirely sure why; she was not scared, she was certainly not excited. She was angry, confused and damn well determined to find out what in hell was going on. "Until thirty seconds ago I didn't think I had a brother."

"I'm sorry, whoever you are, but I think you're getting me confused with someone else." Adam looked angry himself now; he did not have time for this. He turned to leave but Sara grabbed his arm.

"My name is Sara Sidle. This morning my mother got shot through the head whilst on the toilet in the Boulevard Shopping Mall." She had no time to try and put it in a nicer way; he would have to make do with the blunt facts. "Do we have anything in common?"

Adam spun round and met her eye. _Not such a big man now, _Sara thought as she noted the shock in his eyes, but then she regretted it. He was her brother after all. _My brother; I have a brother._

"Maybe we can go somewhere quiet for a chat?"

I.I.I.I.I

"Sara gets all the luck," Catherine said sarcastically as Grissom entered the room.

"Excuse me?"

"First her Mum dies, then she gets a bastard of a brother dropped into the equation."

"That bad, huh?"

"And worse. An arrogant 19 year old who evidently is a drug user and seems to have no emotions. When I told him his Mum was dead, his shock seemed to last all of what, ten seconds? And I know they say people grieve in different ways, but I swear this guy just didn't care."

"Well, maybe he wasn't surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean, Gil?"

"Well, he is the only suspect we have."

"Don't you think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself? You're the one who always goes on about the importance of evidence, and as yet we have none against Adam Sidle."

"As yet we have pretty much no evidence whatsoever, Catherine. Nothing to prove he did it, but nothing to prove he didn't either."

"Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

"It still stands, but we all need somewhere to begin."

Catherine shrugged. "I suppose. He's all we've got right now."

"He's all you're going to get." Grissom and Catherine both turned to Greg who had appeared in the doorway. "All the blood at the scene belonged to Laura." He shook his head. "No footprints, no gunshot residue. I'm at a loss, guys."

"There's got to be something," Catherine protested.

"You saw the scene yourself," Greg shrugged. "It was a hit and run. This guy left nothing behind."

"Adam it is, then," Grissom commented. "Where is he anyway?"

"He knew his rights, Grissom. He's gone – grieving to do apparently. I told him we'd be in touch."

"Maybe it's for the best. Someone needs to speak to Sara."

"Oh God," Catherine sighed. "I hadn't thought about that."

"How many people should find out she has a brother before she does? I think I should go and find her."

"Sara has a brother?" Greg sounded shocked. "She always told me she had no family."

"Until about an hour ago, that's what I thought too," Catherine replied. "And, more importantly, that's what she thought."

"If you need to find her, I just saw her going into the relatives' room with some guy."

"Some guy?" Catherine thought that sounded ominous. "What kind of guy?"

"I don't know, he must have been about twenty, I suppose. Low slung jeans, showing his underwear the way everyone seems to think is cool these days. I tell you- I never thought I'd say this, but looking at guys like that I'm really glad I'm not young anymore. Well, not that I'm saying I'm old, because that would make you- No, that's not what I meant-" Greg stopped midway in digging himself a hole in order to realise that neither Catherine nor Grissom were listening to him – thank God.

They had turned to look at each other. "It's him," Grissom said.

"Oh God," Catherine replied, before both stood up and left the room in an instant, leaving a confused Greg in their wake.

I.I.I.I.I

"Would you like to explain to me what's going on?" Adam asked as Sara shut the door behind them.

"I'm not entirely sure myself," Sara replied, sitting down not to make Adam feel at ease but because her legs felt worryingly weak all of a sudden. "But what I do know is that you and I share a surname and a dead mother."

"But I'm an only child. Mum would have told me."

"How old are you, Adam?"

"Nineteen."

"So you were born 1986, 87?"

"March 18th 1987."

Sara mentally placed the date in her head. She had been fifteen years old when her Mum had had Adam. All those letter she had sent her – _Everything is the same as ever with me. _Nothing could have been further from the truth. She had not only kept the fact that she had had another baby from Sara but she had downright lied to her.

"Do you have a father?"

"Last time I checked, that's kind of a biological necessity," Adam replied bluntly. "But if you mean do I know him, then no. Mum never mentioned him and I never asked."

"Didn't you feel curious? What kind of person doesn't want to know who his real parents are?"

"Am I on trial here?"

"No, I-" Sara stopped and rested her head in her hands. "It's a lot to come to terms with, that's all."

"Don't you think _I _understand that?" Adam asked, taking a seat himself. "Look, Susan – no, sorry, Sophie?"

"Sara."

This was bizarre. Sara no longer knew what to say, what to do. It had been more than twenty years since she last saw her mother. Now she was catching up with twenty years worth of news in a matter of minutes whilst her mother's body slowly cooled in the morgue downstairs. Her head spun whilst two voices battled inside her brain.

You don't know this guy. _But he's a blood relation._

You can't trust him. _But he's all that's left of my mother._

You have nothing in common with him. _What's that got to do with anything?_

He's most probably a drug user. _What teenage boy isn't?_

Do you really need this complication in your life? _He's not a complication, he's my brother._

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Sara was so focussed on the argument running in her head that she barely noticed Catherine and Grissom burst into the room looking decidedly alarmed.

I.I.I.I.I

Adam was standing outside the door upon Catherine and Grissom's instruction. It was unlike him to go quietly, but the news he had just received had shocked even him and he was in no mood to argue anymore. Give him a few minutes.

He could hear Sara's (he thought he remembered her name correctly now) voice. She was shouting. He had worried that his sister, if that was what this woman indeed was, was quiet and polite. But now he realised that she was anything but; she did indeed seem to share some of his and his mother's traits. "Did no one think to tell me!" she was yelling. "Did you think I wouldn't be interested in the fact I have a brother?"

He leant against the wall, unable to make out the quieter voices of the Willows woman who had spoken to him earlier and the man who had entered with her. All of a sudden the shrill ring tone of his phone went off. "Shit," he muttered. Amid all the strange occurrences he had almost forgotten (but not quite) the biggest problem in his life. And it was not the death of his mother. Definitely not. He answered the call. "I told you, I haven't got the money," he spat down the line. The man on the other end of the call did not take this news well. "What do you mean I'm going to have to get it? Is that a threat?" _Of course it is. _"Look, I'll get it. Just give me time. I'll find it somehow."

And as he hung up, Adam suddenly had an idea. Maybe this new sister of his could be of some use after all.

The sound of the door opening jolted him back to reality. It was Sara. Her face was flushed and she slammed the door behind her. In the mood to defy her colleagues, he thought. Now could be a good time…

"Sara, I was wondering something?"

"Yes?" she questioned harshly.

Adam smiled shyly. _Come on, _he said to himself, _make her like you. _"I just thought maybe you and I- maybe you could come round for dinner tonight?"

"If you're looking for a new family, Adam-"

"Of course not," he interrupted, feigning hurt. "How can you think that? I don't want to replace Mum, she only just died!"

It worked.

"I didn't mean that," Sara apologised. "I'm sorry. I'd love to come round. Maybe we can get to know each other better."

Adam smiled. "I hope so."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey people, thanks for the reviews. In response to MC New York, I suddenly realised that as yet there hasn't really been much GSR- it didn't occur to me when I was writing because I knew it was coming, but when I look at it like this I realise it takes a little while to get going! But I promise it does. Not this chapter, but inthe next one it heats up rather suddenly...**

**And thank you to Kristen Elizabeth for your comments. Falling into the habit of 'Britishisms' is something I'm constantly guilty of and I have attempted to minimise them. But sometimes I just do it without thinking. I can definitely appreciate, however, that this is distracting and as such I will make extra effort to keep my writing more accurate. I hope you are enjoying the story anyway.**

**Em xxx**

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Sara was sitting at the microscope struggling to get into focus a small piece of carpet thread from the John Doe #1 case. She fiddled with frustration with the piece of equipment before giving up and sitting upright. As she did so, she caught sight of Catherine standing in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" she asked curtly.

"Don't be like this, Sara," Catherine replied, not angry but soothing. The sentiment was lost on Sara, however, who was simply angered more by what she saw as condescending.

"If this isn't about work, then I'd rather you left me alone."

"We had no time to tell you, Sara. I had only known myself for less than half an hour."

"30 whole minutes, Catherine. I was only down the corridor. Or did you think it would be fun? Was it a nice game for you? Let's see how long Sara and the brother she doesn't know about can wander the same building without bumping into each other!"

"It wasn't like that."

"I'm sure it wasn't." Sara pushed herself in her chair across the lab to a different microscope. "If you don't mind, I have work to do."

"I know this is difficult for you, but-"

"You know?" Sara interrupted. "When was the last time you found out your estranged mother had had another child that you did not know about, on the same day that you find out that she's been murdered? How could you possibly imagine how difficult this is?"

Catherine sighed. "He's bad news, Sara."

"Excuse me?" Sara stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Catherine, not liking the sound of where this conversation was going.

"Adam. He evidently takes drugs; he's rude and he's arrogant. He didn't even seem upset by your mother's death."

"Let me guess; that makes him a suspect?"

"I didn't say that."

"But it's true, isn't it?" Sara said disdainfully. "There's no decent evidence so let's accuse the teenage son who looks a bit dubious."

"We're not accusing anybody. As you said yourself, there's no evidence."

Sara was not listening. "I'll have you know, he was perfectly polite to me and I'm going for dinner with him tonight."

Catherine looked shocked. "Tonight?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Isn't it a bit soon?"

"I didn't even know he existed for 19 years. I don't see how any time could be too soon."

Catherine shrugged resignedly. "Just be careful, Sara."

There was no reply, as Sara leaned over the microscope once again, and Catherine left the room wearily.

I.I.I.I.I

Sara took a deep breath as she knocked on the door. She may have been full of confidence when talking about Adam to Catherine but the truth was that she knew nothing about this boy and yet here they were about to try and catch up on nineteen years worth of lost time. When he pulled the door open he was dressed far smarter than previously, in a pinstripe suit. Sara was sure it was impressive amongst the crowd he hung around with, whoever they were, but to her he looked like a little boy playing dress-up in his father's clothes. "Come in," he said with a smile, pulling the door wide open.

Sara hesitated as she crossed the threshold. It suddenly occurred to her that this was not only Adam's home, but her mother's. This was where her mother had been living for who knows how long. It was not the address she had been writing from all those years ago, but Sara wondered how long it was possible she could have been living in Las Vegas without the two bumping into each other. It was a big city, but not that big. Her brain refused to puzzle it out and she simply asked the question. "How long have you been living here?"

"About three years now."

"Three years?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm just surprised – I get around a lot. How can she have been here for three years and yet I never saw her around?" _Three years she was so close…_

"She didn't get out much."

A million questions ran through Sara's head. There was so much she didn't know; so much she was burning to find out. _Time, Sara, _she told herself. _Don't scare the poor boy off before you've got to know him. _"What are we eating?" The one thing she really didn't care about.

"To be honest, I don't really know. Mom usually dealt with all that stuff, you know. Maybe I could call for take out."

"No," Sara insisted. "Let's see what you've got." She realised they were still standing by the front door. Part of her did not want to move from here; it was still an impersonal area and there was nothing to remind her of her mother. But they couldn't hang around forever. "The kitchen?" she queried.

"Follow me."

Sara did so, first into a living area. It was cosy, plush cushions on the sofa, ornaments on a shelf attached to the wall. It did not remind Sara of her own home as a child. Then she spotted a photograph on a table in the corner. Without a word she moved over to pick it up. She drew a sharp breath as she saw the faces smiling back at her. Her mother, her father and a young girl, maybe three years old – Sara.

Adam came up behind her. "That old thing – I never knew why Mom kept it. She told me it was her boyfriend at the time and his niece. A lovely girl, she said. She always told me that she wished she had kept in contact with her. She used to make quite a fuss about it. I never understood – who gets so attached to her boyfriend's niece?" And then something clicked and he turned to look at Sara. "It's you, isn't it?" he murmured.

"That's my Dad."

Adam took the photo from Sara's hands and placed it back on the table. "What happened to him?"

Sara sighed and moved away from him. "You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Did Mom ever tell you anything about her past?"

"Not really. I never really thought about it, to be honest. She was my Mom – I never considered she had a life before I came along."

Sara's chest constricted. Her head could not come to terms with this. "The life she had before you, Adam," she began. "Was my life."

I.I.I.I.I

"What do you mean, she's having dinner with him?"

"You did say she could have the night off."

"I meant her to go home and get some sleep, not to try and rebuild her family."

"I tried to talk her out of it, Gil," Catherine insisted. "But it was hopeless. To be frank, what business is it of ours where she spends her evenings?"

"I don't trust that boy, Catherine. And neither do you."

"We have no proof of anything, Gil."

"I'm not saying he necessarily murdered Laura. But whatever, I don't think Sara should grow too attached to him. She's still grieving."

"On the rebound, you might say."

"Exactly."

"But what are we meant to do? Go round there and take her home?" Catherine asked dejectedly.

"Drag her kicking and screaming down the road, you mean?"

"I don't think she'd take to that too kindly. Anyway, it's a nice neighbourhood actually; we wouldn't want to create a stir." She managed a small smile.

"Adam Sidle was living in a nice area?" Grissom sounded disbelieving.

"He lived with his Mum," Catherine replied.

Now Grissom looked intrigued. "How do you know that?"

"The contact address he gave us was the same as the one we got for Laura Sidle." Catherine looked at Grissom questioningly. "Am I missing something?"

"You told me that he said he called Laura to settle dinner arrangements."

"Yes."

"How do you go visit for dinner if you're living in the house already?"

Catherine looked as though she could kick herself. "Of course. I knew there was something dodgy about that excuse."

"He was lying to us."

"Looks that way."

"I told you I didn't trust him."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks once again for the reviews.**

**Em x**

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Sara and Adam were in the kitchen chopping vegetables. There was no meat in the house; Laura Sidle was vegetarian – some things had not changed. The conventional domestic scene contrasted massively with the anything but ordinary conversation.

"I don't believe it," Adam muttered, chopping peppers with increasing anger. "How could she keep that from me? She killed her husband? She was in jail?" He slammed the knife down and swore loudly as it caught his finger. Blood poured from the deep wound.

Sara put down her own knife and moved over to him. "Hey, hey, be careful." She picked up the knife and dropped it, dripping blood, into the sink. "You better run that under a tap. Do you have a bandage, or a band aid or something?"

"Upstairs, in the bathroom."

"I'll go find one."

"No!" Adam called out emphatically, shocking Sara slightly. There was a flash of fear and anger in his eyes but it faded so quickly as he smiled and said, "Don't bother yourself. I'll do it," that she wondered if she had imagined it.

He disappeared upstairs, leaving her to continue dinner preparation, emerging five minutes later with a wad of bandage taped onto his finger with a band aid. "I'm sorry about that," he apologised. "It's just a shock, that's all."

Sara could understand that well enough. "Now it's your turn."

"Excuse me?"

"I've told you about the first half of Mom's life. Now you can fill me in on the last 20 years."

"There's not much to know. She had me. We were living in San Diego until I was 16. Then we moved here." He turned to look at Sara. "If it's any consolation, I don't think she can have known you were here."

"She would have no reason to. But I was only a search engine away on the web."

"Mom didn't like computers much."

Sara managed a small laugh. "Sounds about right." She poured the vegetables into a pan and drizzled oil over them. "So, why did you move here?"

Adam was silent for a moment. He leant down and opened a cupboard. Sifting through the contents, he eventually pulled out a packet of noodles. "Will these do?"

"They'll be just fine."

"Where'd you learn to cook?"

"Strange the things you learn when you have no one to do everything for you. You'll find that out soon enough." Sara immediately regretted her comment. This boy had just lost his mother. But as she watched for his reaction, she found none. An unsettled feeling washed over her, but she pushed it away. "You haven't answered my question."

"How about we get dinner ready, and then I'll talk?"

I.I.I.I.I

"I'm not exactly what you'd call a trophy son."

"I'm sure that's not true," Sara murmured into her plate of food. She had been playing with it for a few minutes but her appetite was non-existent.

"I'm not proud of what I've done, Sara."

Now he had her attention. "What does that mean, Adam?"

"I like you, Sara. I think you I and I have more in common than we realise."

Sara felt distinctly unsettled by his words. Throughout the evening their conversation had grown more and more awkward and she had begun to regret agreeing to dinner so soon. The side of her brain that had told her that she knew nothing about Adam, and could not expect to find in him an instant family, was winning out. "Is this going somewhere?"

"I'm in trouble."

Sara put down her fork. "What kind of trouble?"

"Just trouble. You know."

"No, I don't know."

"Drugs, Sara," Adam stated bluntly, putting down his own cutlery onto an equally untouched plate of food. "I'm involved in drugs."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't see what good I can do."

"I owe someone some money. A lot of money."

Sara began to push her chair away from the table and stand up. "I should have known there was an ulterior motive. I'm not listening to this, Adam."

He reached out and grabbed her arm. "Please."

Sara flinched and pulled away. "Get off me! I'm leaving."

"Sara, don't do this."

"I've not even known you a day, Adam. What makes you think I'm going to give you money?"

"They'll hurt me, Sara," he pleaded. "You don't understand."

"I deal with this kind of thing every day, Adam. I can tell you I do understand. And what I understand most is that I don't want to get involved. I'm sorry."

She made her way to the front door, feeling his eyes upon her back as he followed her. "You don't know what you're doing, Sara."

"What I know, Adam, is that I should have listened to everybody else!" she shouted, feeling her blood boil inside her. "My Mum has just died! I have found out I have a brother who she never told me about and that you and her have been living less than an hour from my home for the last three years! And I dared to think that just maybe something good could come from this. But you have proved me wrong." She looked him in the eye. "Looks like I'malone again. Goodbye, Adam."

I.I.I.I.I

As Grissom drove through the busy streets of Las Vegas in the direction of Laura and Adam Sidle's home, he began to wonder why he was doing it. _Because you're worried,_ he told himself firmly. They had no evidence against Adam but he just had a feeling about him. Grissom was not usually the type of man who listened to 'feelings', but in this case he knew he was not going to be able to settle until he had checked that Sara was alright.

He turned on the radio but after switching between the channels he discovered that he was not in the mood for music or chat. He felt strangely nervous. Again he asked himself why. He did not really believe that Adam would hurt Sara. _So why are you driving over the speed limit? _He glanced down at the speedometer and immediately eased off the accelerator. _What is she going to say when you turn up on the doorstep? What business is it of yours?_

They were good questions. To Sara, Grissom was a boss, a colleague. To Grissom, Sara was…he pondered this for a second. Why else was he driving through the city at ten o'clock at night to visit the home of a man he did not know when he really should have been working? Why else did he make excuses so that he could be the one who spoke to her on the phone; the one who called round at her house? Why did the sight of her make him smile inside? Why did her pain hurt him so much? Grissom wondered why it had taken him so long to think this through. To Grissom, Sara was everything.

And there are some 'feelings' you can't ignore.

I.I.I.I.I

Sara was five minutes from home when she spotted the all night grocery store's lights gleaming in the darkness. Her stomach rumbled slightly; she had never got round to eating anything this evening after all. She pulled into the car park and manoeuvred the car not very straight into a space. Shutting the door behind her and forgetting to lock it, she wandered into the store. The night shift cashier looked up from a magazine suspiciously but upon seeing Sara evidently decided she was not a threat.

Sara made her way over to the food shelves. Packets of chips, biscuits, chocolate bars…suddenly, Sara did not feel very hungry. She made her way towards the door. The cashier looked up again, this time irritated by the customer who had a look around and did not buy anything. Sara smiled apologetically. It was as she did so that she spotted the bottles lined up on the shelves behind the counter. _Don't Sara. That's not the answer. You know it's not._

Even as Sara's brain argued, she was moving over to the counter.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom rang the doorbell, inadvertently holding his breath as he did so. For a moment he heard nothing. He reached out to press the bell again but then he heard the latch click and the door swung open. Standing inside was Sara, dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, with her hair scraped back into a messy bun on top of her head. She looked shocked. "What are you doing here?" she questioned abruptly.

"I went to Adam's. He said you had stormed out. It sounded like you weren't having a good night, so- Is that alcohol I can smell on your breath?"

"Maybe." Sara's anger dissipated in a moment and she smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, God, Sara," Grissom sighed. "Not again."

Sara moved away from the door. "No lectures, Mr Grissom," she laughed. He followed her in and shut the door behind him.

"Sara, what are you trying to do?"

Sara turned to face him. "So what if I want to forget my problems? It makes me feel better, that's all." She moved over to the sideboard and picked up a bottle of vodka. It was nearly finished. Grissom approached her and took it from her hands. "Hey!" she protested. "A little more can't hurt."

"Oh yes it can." Grissom moved into the kitchen and poured what was left down the sink. Sara was one step behind him.

"I paid good money for that!"

"I'll pay you back." Grissom turned to face Sara. "This isn't you, Sara."

"I can assure you it is," she replied. Her eyes scanned up and down Grissom's body. "Would you like me to prove it?" She moved closer to him and placed a hand on his chest.

"Sara-" he protested, but before he could say more she had pressed her lips to his. He resisted for a moment. _You can't do this, Gil. Not when she's like this. _But still she kissed him, hard and desperate, as though he held the solution to all her problems; as though letting go of him would kill her. _Not like this. _But before he could think more, he found himself kissing her back.

Together they stumbled into the living room. Sara's hands fumbled with the buttons of Grissom's shirt. "In…the…bedroom," she murmured between kisses.

Somewhere in the back of Grissom's mind he knew this was wrong. But knowing and acting are two very different things.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews, once again. I am particularly pleased that there are people who are not usually GSR supporters reading - I will take that as a compliment!**

**Sorry for the wait between chapters, it is due to uploading problems on the site.**

**Em xxx**

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Sara woke up with a terrible headache once again. She rolled over in the bed, stretching an arm out to relieve her body's stiffness. It was as she did this that she felt him. She turned to look. "Grissom?" she murmured with shock. He lay entangled in her sheets, sleeping peacefully. "Oh, God." She cast her mind back to the night before. She remembered being in the grocery store; buying the bottle of vodka. She remembered driving home, getting changed, opening the bottle… and then nothing.

How many times had she dreamt of this in the past? How happy should it be making her that she had woken up in bed next to Gilbert Grissom? But somehow she had always imagined she would remember how she had got there.

As quietly and unobtrusively as she could, she pulled herself out of bed and moved into the bathroom. There, she splashed her face with cold water in an attempt to make herself more alert. Gazing into the mirror she did not like what she saw. Dark bags under her eyes contrasted against her pallid skin. She turned away and removed her dressing gown from a hook on the back of the door. The thought of Grissom seeing her in such a state made her cringe. Sadness washed over her; she had waited so long – why did it have to end up like this?

She wrapped herself in the gown and tiptoed through her bedroom into the kitchen where she put the kettle on to boil. As she opened the cupboard she wondered whether she should remove one mug or two. Mid-thought the doorbell startled her. Slowly, and very aware of the terrible pain in her head, she made her way to the front door. It was not locked; evidently security had not been at the top of her priority list last night.

As she pulled it open she thought she recognised the man standing in the corridor. Her mind was not working as quickly as usual but it only took her a moment to notice the uniformed police officers standing and she realised that she must know this man from work. "Can I help you?" she enquired hesitantly.

"Sara Sidle?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe you would like to get dressed, Miss Sidle?"

Sara shook her head confusedly. "Excuse me?"

"It might be best if you could come down to the station with us."

Sara could physically feel her body begin to shut down. There was only so much one person could take in 24 hours. "I'm not sure I follow," she murmured.

"We have some questions to ask you," the man explained succinctly. "Regarding the murder of your brother, Adam Sidle."

I.I.I.I.I

"Catherine?" Greg asked hesitantly as he entered the room.

Catherine looked up from the file she was studying. "Yes, Greg?" she queried. He looked nervous. This made Catherine feel so also. "What is it?"

"You know you and Grissom said Sara had a brother?"

"I hope you haven't told anyone else about that, Greg," Catherine replied. "I don't want Sara to return and find the whole lab knows her family's innermost secrets." She was aware she talking to Greg as she would to Lindsay when she had misbehaved but she believed this situation merited it.

Greg looked slightly hurt. "I wouldn't tell anyone," he asserted. "Sara's my friend as well, you know?"

Now Catherine felt a little guilty. "I do know, Greg," she said with an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to accuse you."

"What I actually wanted to ask was whether his name is Adam."

"Sara's brother?"

"Yes." Catherine looked visibly shocked. Taking the look on her face as affirmation, Greg paled slightly himself. "Oh, God."

"How did you know that?"

"He's dead, Catherine."

"What?"

"Adam Sidle was stabbed to death last night."

Catherine placed her head in her hands. "Poor Sara." After a minute or two of silence, she turned to look at Greg. "How do you know this?"

"Someone left the file in the lab. It doesn't pay to be careless around here. The body was discovered at 7.30am this morning by a nosy neighbour. Dayshift got the case. Despite the fact we're all still here at-" he glanced at his watch. "9 o'clock in the morning."

"Well, they weren't going to give it to Sara, were they?" Catherine shook her head sadly. "Someone needs to tell her."

"She already knows." The voice was not Greg's but Nick's. Catherine and Greg turned to face him, standing in the doorway.

"How?" Catherine asked.

"She just called me," Nick explained. "From the police station."

I.I.I.I.I

When Grissom awoke it took him a moment to ascertain where he was. When he finally realised, a wave of emotion washed over him. Regret. Definitely regret. But not because of whom he had spent the night with; because of how it had happened. _You took advantage of her, Gil,_ his head repeated over and over.

The sound of the phone ringing interrupted his pattern of self hatred. He reached over to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Gil?" It was Catherine. _Shit. _

"Er, yeah, hi, it's me."

"What are you doing at Sara's house?"

"I, um, came round to check on her."

"Is she there?" Catherine sounded confused.

"Yes," Grissom replied. "I mean – I think – she-"

He heard the sound of Catherine sighing on the other end of the line. "Don't, Gil," she protested. "I don't care how you got there, but I do know that Sara's not with you right now."

Grissom slowly climbed out of the bed, keeping himself wrapped in a sheet. As he did so, he noticed the note lying next to the telephone. _Grissom, _it read. _I'll explain later. Sara. _Short but not so sweet. What was it supposed to mean? "I think you're right," he murmured down the phone. "She's not here."

"I know I'm right." There was a moment's pause on the other end of the line. "I'm coming to get you."

"I can drive myself to you, Cath."

"It's quicker and easier this way. We've got some talking to do. I'll be there in about twenty minutes." She gave him no time to argue. "See you then."

I.I.I.I.I

"What do you mean she's being questioned?"

"She's Adam's only known living relative, Gil," Catherine explained, not taking her eyes off the road. "She's the most obvious port of call."

"But they had no right to take her to the station."

"Maybe she wanted to go, Gil. Maybe she didn't want to disturb you." Grissom had not said a word to her about the events of the previous night, but Catherine could take a pretty good guess. She did not condone his actions, but now was neither the time nor the place.

Grissom continued to argue. "She wouldn't have gone unless she had to."

"Well, I don't know, Gil. All I know is what Greg has told me. And that's not much. That's why we're going to find out more."

"What did she do to deserve all this?" Grissom murmured sadly. The question was not really directed at any one person in particular but Catherine took it upon herself to answer.

"I expect that's what she's asking herself right now," she replied, keeping her eyes firmly on the road. "And the answer is nothing. She did not bring this on herself. It's one of those unfortunate things. Bad things happen to people who don't deserve it."

"It's not right."

"Of course it's not, Gil." As the car pulled up in a queue of traffic, Catherine turned to look at her friend. "Very few things are right. Life is unfair. We know that better that anyone. But we can't change what has happened to Sara. All we can do is help her through it. She needs you to support her." As the traffic began to move again Catherine's gaze once more returned to the road. "Can you do that?"

"I hope so." If Grissom sounded uncertain, it was nothing in comparison to how he was feeling in that instant.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for all the reviews again. And 3 from MC New York - thank you! I was indeed very humbled to receive a review from Kristen Elizabeth as she is such a wonderful writer. It is amazing to think she actually read my story! **

**Em xxx

* * *

**

"I think you know why you're here, Sara." The police officer, who had identified himself as Captain Carl Palmer, replied. He stopped his pacing of the small interview room and took a seat opposite her. Sara raised her tired eyes to meet his.

"I'm not an idiot, Captain."

"I never said you were."

"As you well know, I have experience in these matters. I know the procedure. You would not have brought me here unless you had something good to say. So can we cut the small talk? Adam Sidle is dead. What has that got to do with me?"

"Aside from the fact he's your brother?"

"A brother I only found out existed yesterday."

Captain Palmer smiled. "He was still a blood relation. That must be hard for you."

Sara sighed. She was not falling for this. "It's a shock, Captain Palmer. Of course it is. But the honest truth is that right now I feel very little. A week ago I could have walked past Adam in the street and not have known who he was. It takes weeks, months…years to build a relationship with someone. I had a day."

"But they do say blood is thicker than water."

Sara pushed back her chair and stood up in exasperation. "If you have nothing better to say, Captain-"

"Sit down, Sara."

"Can you give me one reason why I should?"

"I can give you several."

"Good reasons?"

"You're the kind of person who believes that evidence never lies, I believe, Sara." The words resonated in her head. That was the kind of thing that Grissom would say. Grissom – she wondered what he had done when he had awoken. But there was no time to ponder such matters. "So yes, I would say they were good reasons." She turned to look at him. His face now was stern and solemn. "Sit down, Sara," he commanded. She did so. "Sara Sidle, we have good reason to believe you were involved in the murder of your brother, Adam Sidle."

I.I.I.I.I

"What do you mean we can't speak to her?" Grissom asked the young officer standing in the reception area. He looked nervous, being confronted by Grissom's angry figure, but stood his ground.

"She's being questioned, sir. You will have to wait until she's released."

"What do you mean released? Has she been arrested?"

"Not yet, as far as I am aware."

"What do you mean, not yet?" Grissom was full of questions. So many things were unclear. "What's going on?"

"I can't tell you any more, I'm afraid," the young officer replied, avoiding Grissom's eye. "You will have to wait."

Grissom opened his mouth to continue arguing but Catherine's hand on his arm stopped him before he said anything. "Come on, Gil. It's not his fault. Come and sit down." She turned to face the officer. "If anything happens could you please inform us?" she asked him. He nodded, grateful for the respite. "Let's go and sit down."

I.I.I.I.I

"I don't believe this!" Sara cried out, not sure whether to laugh or cry. "I didn't kill my brother!"

"I thought you said he meant nothing to you."

"He was still my brother!"

"We have evidence to support the claim, Sara. Now would be the time to tell us exactly what occurred last night. We know you were at Adam's house."

"How about you tell me what evidence you have first? Then I can tell you why you're wrong."

Captain Palmer looked angry for a moment but then evidently decided that co-operating with Sara was the best way forward. "If that's what you would prefer."

"It certainly is." Sara smiled, sickeningly sweet. "So why don't you explain to me exactly why you have brought me here?"

"We found your jacket at Adam's house, Sara. We know you were there last night."

"I never denied that-"

Captain Palmer interrupted her defence. "Do you want to listen or not, Sara?" She nodded and lowered her eyes to the table.

"A neighbour said they heard an argument between Adam and a female voice. Your fingerprints were found on a glass, a photo frame, the door handle…and on the knife that was used to kill Adam."

"What?" Now Sara was genuinely shocked. "That can't be right."

"You shouldn't have left the knife in the sink, Sara. With Adam's blood. As a CSI, I would have thought you'd know better." Now Captain Palmer looked smug but Sara's slower than usual brain began to catch up.

"In the sink?" She shook her head. "You don't know how mistaken you are."

Captain Palmer still looked confident. "Why don't you try and tell me?"

"I did go to Adam's house. For dinner. Hence my fingerprints on the glass, the photo frame, the door handle. And probably on the plates, the knives, the forks, a pan…the list goes on. And yes, we argued. That's why I left early and in a hurry. That's why I forgot my jacket."

"That's all very nice, but it does not explain how your fingerprints ended up on a kitchen knife which was covered in Adam's blood."

"Covered?" Sara snorted. "I doubt it. He cut his finger chopping peppers."

"How convenient." Captain Palmer still did not appear rattled.

"As you said yourself, Captain Palmer, I am a crime scene investigator. Should I have wanted to murder Adam Sidle, I am sure I could have done so without leaving a trail of such obvious evidence."

"Perhaps that didn't occur to you. Maybe it was spur of the moment thing. You got angry with Adam. It had been a bad day."

"So I killed him?" Sara sounded disbelieving. "Come on, Captain. Surely you can do better than that?"

Captain Palmer stood up suddenly, pushing his chair away from the table and placing his hands upon it as he loomed over Sara. He was attempting to assert his authority, but Sara could tell he was feeling less certain of himself.

"What time did Adam die?" she asked him shortly.

"We don't have an exact time of death yet."

"It doesn't have to be exact. Even an estimate would prove I was not present at the time, I'm sure."

"Oh, yes?" Captain Palmer sneered. "Who can back you up on that?"

Sara hesitated for a moment. Her first night with Gil Grissom was turning out to be anything but romantic. She did not want to publicise it. But one look at Captain Palmer's face and she knew she had no option. "Gilbert Grissom," she replied. "He was with me all night."

And the look on the Captain's face made the revelation almost worthwhile.

I.I.I.I.I

"Gilbert Grissom?" the young officer approached Grissom and Catherine, who were sitting silently on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

Grissom looked up in anticipation. "Yes? Are you done with Sara?"

"No, sir."

The hope faded from Grissom's eyes. "Then what do you want?"

"We have some questions for you, Dr Grissom."

"Me?"

"Him?" Catherine echoed.

"You."

"Why me?"

"Why him?"

The young officer looked confusedly from Catherine to Grissom. "If you would just come with me?" he offered hesitantly.

Grissom slowly pulled himself out of the chair. "Do I have a choice?"

"Well-" the officer began, but Grissom immediately interrupted.

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Ah." The officer went silent as Grissom fell into step alongside him, Catherine watching the two men walk away. They walked down the corridor. Passing doors on either side of him, Grissom glanced through the windows into empty offices and questioning rooms. Another man turned around the corner at the other end of the corridor. He spotted Grissom and the young officer and quickened his pace towards them. "Officer Martin, can you take Dr Grissom to Room 10?"

The officer nodded his head and signaled for Grissom to follow him. Grissom did not query. He had a feeling he needed to preserve his energy for the questions he was about to face. They turned the corner at the top of the corridor and the officer glanced into a room labeled number 10. He looked slightly confused as he turned to Grissom. "Could you just wait here a moment please?"

Grissom's lack of reply was taken as affirmation as Officer Martin hurried back around the corner. Out of interest, Grissom glanced briefly through the window of room 10. A police officer, looking slightly rattled, was sitting opposite a brunette woman.

Hang on…a brunette woman…Grissom looked once more through the window. "Sara?" he murmured. She could not possibly have heard him but evidently something stirred inside her as she turned to look up at the window and met his eye, apparently not at all surprised to see him there. For a moment they just stared. He could barely comprehend the mix of emotions in her eyes; desperation, sadness, frustration, anger. He tried to smile reassuringly, but his lips refused to comply. Instead he found himself looking away.

_What have you done, Gil? _he asked himself. _It wasn't meant to be like this. The morning after your first night together and you're both being questioned with regard to murder. _Angrily he kicked the wall, just as Officer Martin turned the corner once again.

"Dr Grissom?" he questioned. "Are you alright?"

Grissom looked up. "No," he replied. "No, I'm not. So can we just get this done?"


	10. Chapter 10

**_I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long to materialise. It is so hot here in London that it has been hard to concentrate and any time on the computer has seemed like a waste of the beautiful weather! Only a week of school left but already I am going into overdrive with this story because I go to Vietnam for a month in two weeks andI hope to get it finished by then. I can't guarantee it, however, I'm afraid!_**

**_Em x_**

* * *

"Could you please outline your movements last night, Dr Grissom?" 

"Are you asking me for an alibi?"

"If you could just answer the question."

"Oh, no, of course. You want to know if mine and Sara's stories match up."

"You were working the night shift last night, we understand?"

"I was supposed to be."

"Supposed to be?"

"I left at around 8 o'clock to go to Adam Sidle's house."

Captain Palmer did not appear to have been expecting this. "Adam Sidle's house?"

"Yes." Grissom managed to derive some pleasure from having this police captain hanging on his every word. "Adam Sidle's house."

"Would you mind telling me why?"

"Because I knew Sara was there. I also knew she had been upset and I was worried she might do something she would regret."

"Like kill Adam?"

Grissom looked up incredulously. "If I had meant that, Captain," he replied. "I would have said that. All I wanted to do was let her know that we were here if she needed anyone to talk to."

"We?"

"Me and everyone else at the lab. We're not just colleagues, we're friends."

"And is Sara a friend you regularly spend the night with?"

Captain Palmer's forthright attitude rattled Grissom but he refused to let it show. "You're getting a little ahead of yourself there, officer," he stated pointedly. "I thought you wanted to know my movements." He waited a moment before continuing. "I must have left Adam's at about 9 o'clock. I drove over to Sara's apartment and entered between 9.30 and 10pm. I was there all night and I still was there when you came and forced Sara to come with you this morning."

"No one forced Sara to do anything."

"Of course. I'm sorry." Grissom smiled, ostensibly the model of politeness. "Can I go now?"

"We may need you to make an official statement, Dr Grissom."

"I'd be happy to."

"This is going to come out, you know. I assume no one was aware that you are in a relationship with Miss Sidle."

"We're not in a relationship," Grissom replied immediately, and then wondered why he was being so defensive.

"So it was casual sex, was it?" Captain Palmer immediately asked, accusatorily. "Taking advantage of a 'friend' in need?"

Now Grissom could not keep hold of his disgust. "Is this relevant, Captain Palmer?" he spat.

The Captain smiled shrewdly. "We'll be in touch should we need to take that statement," he said calmly. "Thank you for your time."

I.I.I.I.I

"You're free to go for now," Captain Palmer informed Sara upon re-entering the room. "But we will probably be in contact again soon."

"Oh, thank God," Sara murmured under her breath, but she attempted to keep her relief a secret from the Captain. "You've realised how ridiculous this all is, then?"

"Dr Grissom supports you alibi."

"Because it's the truth."

"According to the two of you – what a surprise."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"No, Captain Palmer. If you have something to say, please do."

"Do you make a habit of sleeping with your supervisor?"

Sara could not deny she was slightly taken aback by his candour. "Is this any of your business?"

"You told me to say what I had to say."

Sara stared at him and nodded curtly. "I did."

"People will have to be informed."

"I'm sure they will."

"I'm sorry but I can't keep this to myself."

"You're anything but sorry."

"Don't be like that, Sara."

"Like what?" Sara could not believe what she was hearing. "Can I go?"

"Of course."

Sara stood up and made her way to the door. Captain Palmer reached out to open the door but Sara pushed past him and did it herself. "I'm fine, thank you."

I.I.I.I.I

Sara marched as quickly as possible down the corridor and into the main waiting area of the police station. People were bustling about and she was relieved to find that no one batted an eyelid at her, despite her angry exit. She was just pulling the door open, revelling in the burst of fresh air that hit her as though she had not seen the outside world for years, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun round indignantly, expecting to see Captain Palmer or one of his equally condescending colleagues. "Don't even-" she began. But instead she found herself face to face with Grissom.

"They let you out," he murmured, unsure what else to say.

"It looks that way." Sara could not stand the awkwardness between them. "But I'm not sure how long for."

"Let me give you a lift home."

"I'm fine."

"Sara, you live miles from here."

"I do know how to use a bus."

"I don't doubt that, but seeing as Catherine's car is parked just outside."

"Catherine's car?" Sara's heart sunk, just as she had been beginning to envisage a proper conversation between her and Grissom.

"Did I hear my name?" Catherine approached Grissom from behind, with a friendly smile on her face that seemed strangely out of place in this anything but friendly environment. "Are we ready to go?" Neither Grissom nor Sara replied and Catherine decided not to probe. "Follow me," she instructed. "I'm just parked around the corner."

I.I.I.I.I

"Thanks for the lift," Sara said to Catherine, genuinely grateful. "I'll see you at work tonight."

"You don't have to-" Catherine argued, but Sara immediately silenced her.

"I'm no good sitting at home."

Catherine smiled. "It's up to you."

Grissom, who had travelled in the back of the car silently, decided to speak up. "I'll see you to the door," he announced to Sara.

"I don't need-" Sara began, but one look at Grissom made her realise her arguments were futile. She climbed out of the car.

Once the door had shut behind her, Grissom turned to Catherine. "You go. I'll see you later."

I.I.I.I.I

"Tea?"

"Sara-"

"There's nothing wrong with civilities, Grissom," Sara interrupted defensively as she put the kettle on. "I'm making myself one, so-"

Grissom sighed resignedly. "I'm fine, thank you."

Sara seemed to have a sudden change of heart. She turned face on and met Grissom's stare. "It's up to you."

"About the tea?"

"About this."

"This?"

"Us."

"Ah."

Sara let her gaze drop and moved through to the living room. "Come and sit down."

"Thanks." All of a sudden Grissom did not want this conversation to happen. He dawdled for a moment and then purposefully followed Sara and took a seat on the sofa, slightly distanced from Sara in the armchair.

"I don't-" Sara began, as Grissom simultaneously started speaking. "You first," she insisted.

"No, you."

There was a moment of awkward silence and then Sara took a deep breath. "I don't want it to be like this, Grissom."

"Call me Gil, Sara. Grissom sounds so – clinical, after – this."

"Gil. I don't want it to be like this, Gil."

"Like what?"

"Awkward. We shared something and…" she faltered, unsure of what to say next. "And it meant something. To me, at least."

"It did to be too, but-" The minute the word had slipped out of his mouth, Grissom regretted it.

"But what?"

"Nothing."

"No, go on." There was some animosity in Sara's voice. "What is it that you regret?"

"I didn't mean it like that. All I meant was – I wish it hadn't happened like this."

Sara immediately took up a defensive position, crossing her arms across her chest. "You mean, when I was drunk?"

"Well, yes."

"What, do you think I didn't know what I was doing?"

"No, I-"

"You think I can't remember it? You think I was far gone that it can't have meant anything?"

"I didn't mean that. But you have to admit that it wasn't ideal. I mean, you were mourning the death of your Mom. And now your brother's dead."

"And that means I'm insecure and unable to enter into a meaningful relationship?"

Grissom looked taken aback. "Is that what this is?" He remembered his firm denial to Captain Palmer earlier.

"I thought so, until a few moments ago. Now I'm not so sure. Evidently you don't want it to be."

"I didn't say that."

"No, but you've made it quite clear." Sara stood up in one fluid movement. "I'm going to have that cup of tea. I think you had better go, Grissom."

"Gil."

"You can see yourself out. Grissom."


End file.
